


hymn for the weekend

by jemmasimmns (laurellance)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, F/F, F/M, Relationship Discussions, RipFic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurellance/pseuds/jemmasimmns
Summary: In which Rip and Sara get married over drinks and they deal with the consequences. The Legends help, dubiously.





	1. that's the alcohol talking

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! A RipSara Accidental Marriage fic where Laurel lives and Jax and Stein are still on the team. All characters will eventually show up.

If it weren’t for the pounding, awful headache Sara nursed, she would have freaked out at the sight of the wedding ring on her finger. But since her head was slowly killing her, she ignores the ring, yelling at a moaning, groaning Nate that mumbled that his felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on his. “Nate? Shut up.” 

And Rip, the cocky bastard that he was, stands in the corner, leaning on the intersection between his door and his wall trying to keep his balance. He nurses a black coffee in his hand. 

What the _hell_ had happened last night?

* * *

Sara talks. Laurel listens. 

“Me and the rest of the team went out drinking last night.” Laurel says nothing, taking a sip from her mug. If Sara were to guess, it’s coffee. Only Rip liked tea, and that was because he was British. “We may have gotten out of control.”

Laurel makes a light laughing noise, and it sounds awful to Sara’s ears. “Well, that’s without question. What do you remember?”

“A lot of talking. Nate and Amaya taking shots. Ray chatting the bartender like he was making a  friend. Rip being miserable. Zari hacking the speakers to play Sexy and I Know It nonstop.” 

“Sara,” Laurel asks her, “why Sexy and I Know It was played repeatedly?”

“Stein was complaining about the music and Zari played something she thought was more appropriate.”

Laurel tries not to laugh. “Was it more appropriate?”

“Nope. I think the bartender told Ray he’d get free drinks if he took care of the music.” Sara adds. “I think Jax eventually convinced Zari to play something else.”

“Thankfully.”

“My head’s killing me.”

“I’m sure.” Laurel replies, before adding. “A Professor Martin Stein called me earlier, when you sleeping. Said that there was something you should see from last night. He sounded upset.”

Sara mutters under her breath. “Fuck,” pausing to recollect her thoughts. “What did we _do_ last night?” At Laurel’s questioning glance, she explains. “Normally, he just complains about it cause Jax has a hangover and it gives him a hangover too. He doesn’t look for people.”

Laurel waits for Sara to say something, anything. Sara stares back, trying not to hate the lights that were glaring into her eyes. Laurel nudges. “What is that on your finger?” 

Sara glances down at her right hand, at the diamond ring resting innocently on her ring finger and realizes oh shit, _Oh Shit_. She states, not quite connecting the dots. “The ring has to be Rip’s. He was talking about his first wife,” Laurel raises her eyebrows at that, “who is dead. Murdered by Vandal Savage with their son-it’s a long story.”

Laurel grimaces at that. “I’m sorry for his loss. How old was his son?” 

“Jonas was ten.” Sara continues her story. “Rip was talking about them and he’d brought out the ring he used to propose with her, and he showed it to me. And I somehow decided to marry him, from what it looks like. Hell, I’ve never once gone out on a date with him.”

Laurel’s smiles in amusement. “Sara, you married him. He has to mean something to you, if you did decide to marry him.”

“That’s not true.”

“The ring that’s sitting on your finger implies the opposite.”

Sara glares at her. “I don’t remember it happening, so that means it didn’t happen.” The ring, of course, is still on Sara’s finger.

Laurel passes her a sheet of paper from one of the folders she has next to her. “There’s the marriage certificate, and yes, it’s legal.” Laurel’s already seen the document already, made a copy of it from the wedding registry. She doesn’t know what her younger sister has gotten herself into, but she’s married now, to a British time traveler. 

Sara scans the document, her face reacting viscerally as she read it. “It’s not real. Stein wouldn’t officiate the wedding,” Laurel wants to remind Sara that Martin Stein was certified to marry people, “Nate and Amaya signed their names twice on it, I don’t know why Ray and Jax signed the damn thing, and Zari’s signature on here had to be forged. It has to be a fake document.”

“Sara, it’s a legal document. Martin Stein is allowed to officiate weddings, and it has more the required amount of witnesses to certify that the wedding did happen.” Laurel watches as Sara’s face almost crumples as she tries to process it. “I’m sorry.”

Sara’s entire being seems to be on fire right now, as though it was screaming a nonstop chain of _fuck, what I have I done_ without end, because it’s a damn stupid decision, and she’s made tons of damn stupid decisions. Including breaking time, for fucks sake. 

Sara pulls out her phone and calls Rip. The line buffers until Rip picks the phone up, hearing a weak and weary voice she didn’t want to listen to. “Hey husband, hey _sweetie_ ,” both husband and sweetie are said in a sickly sweet voice, “can we talk? Laurel’s apartment.” She hangs up the phone soon afterwards, not wanting to hear what Rip Hunter had to say. 

* * *

 

Rip glares holes into the walls of his study as Martin Stein lectures him. “Professor Stein, Martin, are you suggesting that Miss Lance and I are married? As in, walk down the bloody isle, said the bloody vows, married?” Stein stands at the doorway, hovering around almost like a father figure, trying to talk sense into him.

“Yes, Captain Hunter. I officiated the wedding, and to further clarify, Jefferson and I went through all the digital footage as obtained by Gideon of the wedding, frankly, the quality is terrible and it is an experience I’d rather not have to go through again, and yes, you and Sara are officially married.” As though he were anticipating Rip correcting him, he adds. “I have already went though the photographs and videos at least five times, Captain Hunter, I will not go through them again unless you wish to look at them yourself.”

Rip gives a deep sigh. “Oh, bollocks.” He groans, setting his head between his hands, because there are things that should be done with proteges, teammates, including but not limited to encouraging them and supporting them, training them and training with them, and there are things that shouldn’t be done, including marrying said proteges in drunken matrimony at the wee hours before midnight, as well as giving them his dead wife’s ring, if the images that Martin had been examining earlier were any indication. He wasn't sure how to explain that he had accepted Sara Lance’s wedding proposal, and that he had taken Miranda’s wedding ring out of the box he kept it in, put it in his hand and played the said ring onto Sara’s ring finger. 

Martin offers the unhelpful conclusion that “Yes, Captain Hunter, it appears that-.”

Rip’s phone buzzes. He glances at the caller ID, it reads Sara Lance, and wants to groan. He picks it up, not wanting to say or do anything. If he was being quite honest with himself, all he wanted to do right now was wallow in his self pity and pretend that everything was fine, that everything in his life was peachy keen, and that no, he did not marry his first protege. If only life were that simple.

“Hey husband, hey _sweetie_ ,” Rip has never heard the word sweetie said with such venom in his life, “can we talk? Laurel’s apartment.” Sara hangs up the phone abruptly, the call ending as soon as it started. 

Rip groans once more. Martin gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, before making the excuse that he wanted to go check on Jefferson. Rip glares holes into the walls of his office.

* * *

 

Rip drags Nate and Amaya along, citing the reason that they appeared more frequently in the footage from last night. “The two of you were that evening, as well as witnesses to whatever it was Miss Lance and I did last night.” 

Amaya replies: “I believe that’s called marriage.” Nate says nothing, but looks vaguely guilty.

Rip tells Nate as they walk down the hallways of the waverider, “Doctor Heywood, while I don’t remember everything from that night, I do remember you babbling to me about what it is you and Miss Jiwe do in your spare time. It would be better, recommended even, that for the sake of both our best interests, you never overshare about your sex life.” Nate looks embarrassed and mumbles apologies and Rip feels proud. 

The taxi ride to Laurel Lance’s apartment is uncomfortable, awkward even. Rip is pushed into taking the front seat, Doctor Heywood and Miss Jiwe occupying the back seat. “This isn’t a bloody love shack,” Rip tells deaf ears as Amaya gently suggests that he takes the front seat. Nate makes a noncommittal noise, leaning his head on her shoulder and falling asleep quickly. Rip doesn’t catch what he said, but he does ask her how much sleep Doctor Heywood had gotten the last week. He’s not surprised to hear that Doctor Heywood had spent the last week doing research in his library, or that his desk had been littered with an army of coffee stained mugs. 

Thankfully, their taxi driver is the silent kind. The silence of the car was more comfortable than it otherwise would have been, not that it would have been saying much regardless. Having to tell someone that _I’m visiting the sister of the woman I accidentally married last night over drinks_ didn’t get easier to say.

The driver comes to a stop at the foot of a modern apartment complex. Amaya shakes a sleepy Nate awake. “Rip,” Nate yawns, hair tussled as she rubbed his eyes, “how did you get Laurel’s address?”

“I was the one who bought her the apartment,” Rip replies as they enter the lobby and head for the elevators. 

“I thought Laurel Lance was killed by Darhk. What happened?” Nate questions, trying to make sense of why Dinah Laurel Lance, the Black Canary, was alive. 

“She was, up until you lot broke time.” Rip explains. “It resulted in a level three anachronism in Star City on the day of Miss Lance’s, Laurel Lance that is, death. The anachronism stated that instead of dying in the hands of Damien Darhk at 11:59 that day, she would barely survive. I erased the anachronism from Time Bureau records.”

“You changed the timeline,” Amaya summarizes, almost accusingly. Nate nods along.

“Yes,” Rip confirms, before requesting. “Don’t tell Sara, she doesn’t need to know.” Miss Jiwe exchanges a look with Doctor Heywood that Rip is determined to ignore. He knows what it is that were suggesting, that he had romantic feelings for Sara Lance. All in all, it had been such a ridiculous idea, Rip couldn’t believe he was even considering it. Miss Lance had been a good friend, sometime rival, and once or twice their friendship had been antagonistic, but above all, she had been a good companion and associate. Even if he was to consider her in a romantic light, he would never have gone for it, on the basis that he would have ruined his friendship with her. There was nothing to show that he loved her romantically and that was the end of that.

The elevator comes. They say nothing as smooth Jazz music plays in the background and when the elevator arrives at their floor, Rip feels dread for what is coming, even though he doesn’t quite understand why. 

Rip sends in Amaya and Nate in first, on the basis that should Sara be seeking physical harm, they would be able to talk her out of it. Doctor Heywood throws him under the bus within seconds, telling an expectant Sara “Rip thought if he came in first, you’d kill him.” 

He can hear Sara laughing from outside the door. “I’d punch him yeah, but not kill him.” He catches a glimpse of her face: it’s not quite angry, but resigned. He can hear his two companions making their way to the couch, Doctor Heywood no doubt falling asleep on the couch. 

“Rip,” Sara calls out from the doorway, “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Rip peeks his head in the doorway to find Sara in black tights and a T-shirt. Her hair threatens to fall out of the loose pony tail it had been hastily thrown into. She’s been expecting him. She pulls him into a hug, tells him that _I’ve been waiting for you_ , and Rip tries not to decode the signaling of what had just happened. He’s just thinking too much into it, but he does know those words usually entailed some sort of romantic context, which him and Miss Sara Lance were certainly not. 

“Miss Lance.” His reply is courteous, professional, as well as trying to avoid looking at the ring on Sara’s finger. It did look good on her, Rip notes, just as good as it had been on Miranda. His ring had never left his finger, not if he could help it. 

“Rip,” she smiles at him, worn out and expectant, “we have something to discuss.”

Rip expects Sara to be angry at him. He’s not sure why her mood is mellow, but he won’t question it, not if it means he can escape her temper. He avoids the fact that he finds her beautiful in the clothes she was wearing.


	2. to be strong in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rip and Amaya discuss the consequences of his actions, and Rip and Sara discuss what happened. Bed sharing and ruminating at midnight occur.

There’s so much to say, and so little time. At least that’s what the clock on the wall showed Rip. Sara’s pretty much exhausted if the dark circles under her eyes were any indication, and Laurel was looking at him expectantly, as though she was daring him to speak.

He does say something eventually, but it’s not much. “That we do,” he tells Sara, and he follows her to the dining table where documents and photographs decorated it and a delightful slideshow of photographs pulled from social media played ever so unassumingly. He’s seen them, of course. He’s sure Martin would more than likely recognize all of them, all while berating him and Sara. 

He’s sure they’d deserve it, either way. The television is next to the table, and he catches sight of Doctor Heywood taking up the span of the couch, snoring lightly. He catches Amaya’s gaze, and in it, he sees something that looks like determination. 

Somehow, he doubts this was friendly.

“Hey Sara,” Amaya asks his now wife, “do you mind if Rip and I talk outside? He gave me something earlier and I forgot to give it to him.”

“You could always give it to him here,” Sara suggests, reaching for a cup of coffee. 

“No can do,” Amaya tells Sara, “it’s a surprise for you.” Sara raises her eyebrows at Rip. 

Sara shows them the door. Amaya gives him a look that suggests that if he contradicted her, it would be a very bad idea. A very terrible idea, if he knows the steely determination in her eyes, and he does. He recognizes the feeling, how restrained she kept her anger. 

They walk beyond the door to the corridor that led them to the door to the stairs. Amaya asks him, cold and without emotion, “How did you really revive Laurel?” It’s a simple question, really, but if it’s anything Rip knows, it’s that he should tread very carefully. 

“It was after I left,” Rip explains. Amaya looks at him without emotion. “I had just finished creating the algorithm that detected anachronisms, and I noticed one in Star City, April 6th, 2016. I had arrived early morning to the Bureau to get some work done when I found it.”

Amaya narrows her eyes at him. “What did you do next?”

“It was one of the largest anachronisms to date. At that point the program was only capable of measuring them up to ten, but this was arguably a twelve, thirteen.” Rip stops to recollect and the dread he had felt as he had first viewed it comes back to him in flashbacks, in waves. He remembers knowing the event, feeling that it had been familiar long before he clicked on its details. “I erased it from Bureau records, solidifying it as part of the life line.” He wants to tell her that Laurel Lance had had her whole life ahead of her, that her impact on her city was incomprehensible. 

He figures she knows, the way Miss Jiwe’s shoulders sagged for a brief second. “What made Laurel so special? I know you’ve always cared for Sara, and I know she’s always cared for you, but what made Laurel’s death so important to you?” She adds, colder in tone. “Don’t you dare say it was because Sara mattered to you, because Sara matters to all of us, Rip Hunter. Not all of us change the time line for her, however.”

Rip weighs his next words very carefully. “Laurel Lance’s death was unnecessary. There are other ways of characterizing it, futile, pointless, of no significance but for once, I decided to ignore my principles, to save her.” He wants to add, having seen Sara grieve, that he understood the desire to use time travel to save doomed love ones. After all, that had been why he had recruited the Legends, to save Miranda. To save Jonas. It didn’t matter that the mission hadn’t been successful, but he had tried. He had done everything he could to save them, and that was what had to matter.

“Lots of people die unnecessarily, Rip. Would you have saved those people too, or was it just for Sara? Why couldn’t you have saved the JSA? Why couldn’t Rex have lived? Why couldn’t Henry have come home to Betty and Hank after his mission? Why?” She asks them as though they were a single question, variations of the question he knew all to well.

It was after all, one of the most asked questions of time travel. Why couldn’t something be done? Why? Why did they have to die? He understand the urge, understood it better than he understood himself, but that was the truth of the matter. Time could only be revisited, not changed, for fear of the destruction of everything there was. The fabric of time and space, to prevent demons such as Mollus from escaping his prison, the essence of memory, all of those things depended on the preservation of time.

Rip also understands something else about Amaya Jiwe. She was soldier, a veteran, and that meant that she understood that some sacrifices were necessary, no matter how heartbreaking they were. “Miss Jiwe,” he tells her softly, voice almost as if it were rasping, “you knew your team mates on the JSA better than I did. What would they have done, given their choices?”

Miss Jiwe smiles, bittersweet, not at him but at the memory of her old team. “They would have prioritized the mission, always.” They were soldiers, taught to obey orders and to fight for what was right. “Even if it cost them their lives.” He thinks there are tears she wipes away from the corner of her eye, but he chooses not to see it. Grief was private, pervasive, and he had never been the kind of person to judge how one grieved, or if they chose to grieve. 

She turns to him, one last time. “Sara cares for you deeply. Don’t betray that trust.” He can feel her stuff something into his pocket as they return the apartment. It’s a small round thing, with something carved on it. He suspects that is a canary.

* * *

 

“What took you guys so long?” Sara asks them as they enter the apartment again. Amaya heads to the couch region, taking one of the side chairs. The television plays quietly in the background, Amaya gazing at the screen while not listening to a word of it. He doesn’t blame Miss Jiwe, not really. 

“We were just discussing things and lost track of time. That was all.” He can only imagine how Sara would react to _things_ , but decides against examining that thought further. He takes the charm out of his pocket and hands it to Sara. “Your gift. I thought it might serve as an apology for the marriage by way of alcohol.”

Sara examines the Canary charm, tilting it from side to side. “It’s beautiful, thank you.” She clears her throat then, seemingly wiping away all traces of emotion from her voice. “Now, do you want to talk about last night?”

“I believe that was the purpose of this trip,” Rip tells her, and Sara gives a light laugh. It’s nice hearing her laugh.

Rip fills Sara, and by default, and Laurel in. “Martin, Martin Stein that is,” clarifying for Laurel’s sake, “and told me that it was you that proposed me, and that I accepted. I believe there is a video of it of somewhere, but I’d rather not play it right now.” Sara’s face turns red from embarrassment. Rip doesn’t blame her. 

“The Professor and Jax had decided to leave for a bit. In part because Sexy and I Know It doesn’t get more charming the more it gets played,” Laurel gives a sound of amusement, “and because leaving was the only way for Martin to be content. He was planning on spending the night in Clarissa’s house, but we would call him back.”

Sara asks. “I thought Jax said he was coming back after he left with Stein.”

“I believe that was the plan, but then it turned out that Lily and Ronnie were there visiting for the night. Ronnie didn’t want to stop playing with Jax, but he did let his grandfather go and collect his roommates.” Martin had mentioned the them in passing, then when Rip asked started explaining every single photo in detail, including what sounds Ronnie was making and where Ronnie was crawling. Rip wasn’t sure who he was more proud of: Jax, or his grandson. Both, quite possibly. Rip’s very sure the only reason Martin would know that was because either his daughter or his wife filled him. 

Sara plays a video from the laptop. “Sexy and I Know It, if you want to hear it again.” It’s video from last night, and half of the two minute video turned out to be filming the foot of the person and the person recording it screaming _DUDE, THIS IS SO 2010_.

Rip changes the topic. “Perhaps we should discuss the events of last night.” Sara gives him a questioning glance. “In chronological order.” Sara mutters _oh god_ under her breath.

“We were at the bar, drinking.” Rip turns to Sara. By this point, Laurel has excused herself from the conversation, and headed to bed early. She had mentioned something about the day being exhausting. “I was thinking of Miranda and Jonas, and you were trying to comfort me.”

Sara nods along. “You were mourning them. I remember you telling me you wished it was you that had killed Savage.” 

“The bartender kept on refilling our glasses, and we were starting to get a little out of it.”

“To be fair, Rip,” Sara tells him, “we weren’t that out of it. Nate and Amaya were trying to figure out the football game on replay and failing miserably at it.”

“I couldn’t tell, personally. It sounded right to me.” 

“That’s because you’re British.”

“So, there comes a point in our conversation where I’m telling you about Miranda and I’s marriage, and how much I miss that.”

“That’s when I propose to you.” Sara confirms it, planning on asking Stein about it later.

“Yes. There’s a video clip where I say yes quite excitedly, and I take Miranda’s ring out of its box, and put it on your finger after one too many tries.” The memory embarrasses Rip, but he’s sure it’s just as bad on Sara’s end. Nothing quite like recalling the mistake from last night in something that resembles self loathing. Well, more than normal.

“But of course, we need someone to officiate the wedding.” If there was background music, Sara would hear the Jaws theme song in the background. “Enter Martin Stein.”

“Yes. I believe we’ve told the Legends present our plan already, and Mr. Palmer takes the liberty of calling him for us.” Rip recaps, trying not to recall how beautiful he thought Sara had looked in her minidress. It had looked quite lovely on her, but he didn’t pay attention to that, of course. 

“Good thing Ray stuck with water and not scotch.”

“Mr. Palmer did switch to Sprite eventually, in part due to egging from Doctor Heywood and Miss Jiwe.” Rip’s mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. “I’m not exactly sure how telling Doctor Palmer that if he didn’t have anything that wasn’t water would result in him being head butted out of the bar by a rhinoceros benefits anyone, but it was amusing at the time.”

Sara gives a light laugh. “That’s hardly what you call edgy. Ray's a good nondrinker though, I think the only reason we weren't kicked out was because the bartender liked him.”

“Martin told me that when he arrived back at the bar, he found us, and I quote, ‘acting like the most immature hooligans’ to exist. I don’t think he appreciated Miss Tomaz’s dancing skills.” Rip laughs at the memory, at the sight of Zari attempting to dance with Ray. It had been a dare, he dimly recalls, most likely from one of the patrons of the bar. 

“But he still officiated the ceremony,” Sara confirms. “Kissing you was a blur- I think you kept playing with my hair, because all I can remember was how much you twirled the ends of it. That and you telling everyone who would listen that you were married.”

Rip mutters _oh god_ under his breath, and his cheeks redden. “Rip,” Sara tells him, “if it helps, there is video of me posted, preserved on the internet telling you that since you were my husband now, smiling and grinning at everything you said, and trying to kiss you all the time. I think Laurel may have taken a break then.”

“That would be perfectly understandable, and that would certainly explain why both Martin and Jax were irritated with the wedding as a whole. Perhaps Jax wanted to be there, to sign the document stating that he was an official witness.” Rip jokes, “I’m certain that you would have liked to invite John Constantine given the chance.”

“Speaking of documents,” Sara pulls out the photocopy of the marriage certificate, “there’s a copy of the certificate. Nate and Amaya were so drunk they signed their names on it twice.”

Rip examines the document. “I think Martin would like the document, don’t you think? Especially the stain on the bottom right corner of it. I spot Wally’s signature on this. He must have added it when we weren’t aware.”

Sara examines the signature that Rip points to. “Yeah, you’re right. Was Wally there that night?”

“Wally must have been too fast for the camera,” Rip suggests. “He is a speedster after all. He can only get drunk off of rock fuel.”

“That sucks.” A pause. “I think Stein’s just glad Jax’s signature isn’t on the certificate.” Sara yawns, then checks the clock. “Rip, it’s almost midnight. Do you want to call it a night? Amaya’s fallen asleep on the couch already.” Amaya’s sleeping on the chair, the TV still turned on as she slumbered away in silence. Rip turns it off, and Sara gets two blankets out of the linen closet for the two sleeping beauties on the couch. 

Rip checks the aforementioned clock. “I suppose so. Does your sister have a spare room we can stay in for the night?”

Sara wants to point that Rip had _we_ and not I, but that was for another time. She was tired.

“She has a guest room, but that’s it.” Sara’s been in the bed. It’s comfortable.

“Does it have two beds, or one bed? I can take the floor if it only has one bed.” Rip offers the second part much too quickly, as if he was trying to brush off any suggestive thoughts. Sara wants to laugh. Rip’s cute like that, deflecting his feelings and turning them away. She needs sleep, she really does, she just called Rip cute.

“It’s one bed, and it’s fine. We can take opposite sides of the bed.” They’re at the guest room, and the bed sits there in the middle of the room, completely unassuming of what had happened within the last twenty four hours or so. Lucky bed. At least that’s what Sara thinks, but Sara really needed sleep, so she wasn’t sure her mind was to be trusted right now. Especially what she thought about Rip Hunter, who was following her awkwardly, his gangly height making her want to stand on her tip toes and kiss him for the sake of it.

She doesn’t, but she does want to.

Damn the chemicals in her brain that decided that Rip Hunter, who she proposed to and is now married to, was cute. _Cute_. 

* * *

 

Rip’s slept in beds with other people before. When he was home, with Miranda and Jonas, absolutely. There were mornings where Jonas would come join them on the bed, or nights where he would snuggle with him and Miranda, and stay between them till morning. 

He misses those days. Those days are also what he thinks of, at one end of the bed and Sara, his now wife, on the other end of the bed. It’s a peculiar feeling, to know something so intimately and yet not know it at all.

Sara isn’t Miranda. Sara has never been Miranda. Sara has never met Miranda, and when he thinks of Sara, he recognizes what it is he feels about her.

It’s not love, but it isn’t purely friendship either. Perhaps Miss Jiwe had been right earlier, when she had asked him why he had chosen to save Laurel and not someone else. 

He grudgingly acknowledges that Miss Jiwe hadn’t been entirely wrong, though he would deny it to his last breath. It wasn’t worth the gossip, and he’s sure there gossip. He just hasn’t heard it yet. 

No doubt Doctor Palmer had already told Martin, who had then told everyone during meal time just how irresponsible it was to get married while drinking, or next time they decided to go out, to never call him, or his house phone. No doubt Miss Tomaz and Wally had already shared stories of him and Sara, or details from private conversations over video games. No doubt Jax had joined those aforementioned video game sessions.

“Rip,” Sara asks him after he moved around the bed one too many times, “whatever it is you’re overthinking, do that tomorrow.” She yawns. “It’ll be fine, I promise. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.” She moves herself closer to the center. He can feel her body heat closer to him, can feel one of her hands within close proximity of his body. 

He’s been in many different positions in all his travels, and this position has never been one of them. It’s an odd position, for sure, but he’s found that if he ignores it and tries to get some rest, he would get it eventually. Everything would blow over, he hoped, but he’s far from confident.

In the long run, yes, but this was the short run. Things would simmer down eventually, but until they did, all he and Sara had to was figure their impromptu marriage out and what would happen to it. 

He does fall asleep, but it’s a very light sleep. Sara, on the other hand, has no difficulty slumbering away. 

Rip ignores the fact he moves closer to the center of the bed too.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at chochang/zaritomazs!


End file.
